


In Which The Janitor Does Not Hypnotize His Unbearable Crush

by No_Biggie



Category: Orbiting Human Circus of the Air (Podcast)
Genre: Gen, Light Angst, M/M, Trans Male Character, brief mention of self harm, episode 105
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-20 20:45:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9514061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/No_Biggie/pseuds/No_Biggie
Summary: From the point of view of our host, John Cameron, comes the alternate possible outcome of the scene which kept us all on the edge of our seats! Ladies, gentlemen, and others like yours truly, welcome to the retelling of an absolute trainwreck involving unarousing nudity, accidental violence, and two emotionally stunted men.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i tried to write the way that i bet john cameron thinks.. i love that Drama Bastard. i definitely plan on writing more for this whole show, its my new fave thing.

Our host, John Cameron, carefully walked around the edge of the stagehand shower room to the point by the wall across from the door of the stall in which Julian the Janitor sang, and, looking anywhere but down in a desperate attempt to keep the show g-rated, focused on the ceiling of the room. He weighed the probability of the audience hearing if he yelled, and realized that if they couldn't hear Julian, then they wouldn't be able to hear him. 

He yelled out, over the quivering notes that seemed to hold weight in the makeup of the room, "JULIAN! YOU'RE RUINING THE SHOW!" The janitor jumped two feet in the air and very nearly threw himself against the wall, halting his song in shock! 

"Mr. Cameron! What are you doing here?" he asked, accidentally bumping open the door in his rush to wrap a towel around his waist. John Cameron really looked at Julian for the first time in... ever(?) and took in everything at once: the janitor had clearly been crying. The rims of his eyes were red, and his chest rose and fell thickly. Light gray scars ran symmetrically across the bottom of his pectorals, standing out noticeably against his warm dark skin. He trembled coldly in the absence of hot water, and his left hand looked red and swollen, as though he'd been...

"I thought you were letting me do this because I found the cricket!" John jolted to attention. Julian seemed to have surprised himself by speaking. "You... you hugged me. Why cant you just be- be clear? I try so hard to make you not hate me." He twisted his mouth to say more, but instead just stared at John's face with his usual glassy eyes. Even now, Julian's mind was halfway elsewhere. Typical. 

"You were the one who lost the cricket in the first place," was all john could think to say, defense before all other virtues. Even to him, it sounded frail and hollow. John was focused against his will on the evident damage done to his crew member- the damage done by John himself. Julian looked like he was about to cry again.

It was common, among the circus staff, to view Julian the way that one would view a wall-eyed animal. He was cute at best, a detriment to efficiency at worst, but invariably impossible to imagine any sort of emotional intelligence in. 'But', John thought, 'He hurt himself over this. He really hurt himself because I...' John mindlessly, tenderly, reached out his hand to rest on Julian's elbow. Julian tensed. His brown eyes were wide, his thick eyebrows drawn. His shoulders hunched up around his neck. He looked confused more than anything, and ready to be attacked. 

John said, "Let me see this," in a voice that could have been calming if it didn't shake so terribly. Julian looked away while john trailed his fingers down his forearm so as not to jar the swollen hand with any sudden movement. 

"I thought you would have fired me. Or gotten me kicked out of the tower. I didn't think you'd... I never thought you would use the audience against me." Julian was crying freely now, though neither acknowledged it verbally. Some part of the tension cracked, dissipating into the humid air. If john were more of a romantic, he would've sworn he heard a heart break in the echoing, tile-walled room. Whether it were his or Julian's, he wouldn't know. 

"Your hand looks badly hurt." John said, worthlessly. But, he wanted to say more. He wanted to say anything he could. He wanted to turn on his radio show voice that always had something new to tell his listeners, that could comfort or entertain a stranger halfway across the world. Julian opened his mouth to reply. Looking at his lips, soft and drawn in anguish, John Cameron was reminded of the story of Ladislas- of the dropped dolls reflecting in changed expression the torture of the disgraced clockmaker. 

And, like a reservoir, John Cameron broke. "Why do you make everything so impossible!? I can't hate you, and I can't TRUST you not to ruin the only thing I've ever cared about! I try to spite you and instead of triumph I just feel as though I've thrown a puppy against a brick wall! I can't stand you, Julian! Why do you care so much about being made to look foolish in front of MY audience when you do it to yourself every other night?!" He ran out of air- out of steam. "Why do you care what I think of you at all?" Julian whimpered, and John came to.

He was clenching his hands around Julian's hurt wrist. He dropped it as if an insect had crawled out, and took an instinctive step back.

John Cameron did not say sorry.

Julian inhaled a shaky breath. "I care because I think-" he hiccuped, "the w-world of you." It was horrible watching him cry. His tears welled up larger than John thought they could, and his voice caught repetitively within his closed throat. Julian, historically, or as far as john knew, was not a sad man. Then again, as far as John knew, Julian was an emotionless, identity-less burden. This went to show how much empathy the host regularly allowed for his 'bane'. Julian met john's eyes, and continued. "Or, you know, I used to think the world of you. Now, I don't know what to think." It wasn't malicious. It was nervous. His voice ticked along with his muscles, like he spoke subconsciously, out of habit. 

They stared at each other for a second too long and both, at once, realized they had nothing more to say. Simultaneously, Julian turned on his heel to go, and John rubbed his palm against his mouth. These were both done in an attempt to gather wits and gain an understanding of the situation, and both were accepted gestures by the other. Julian retreated to wherever it was he went when he wasn't ruining John's show, and John, of course, returned to his show in ruins. As usual, the audience would be none the wiser of any backstage events that had occurred. It was as it should have been.


End file.
